Lights, Camera: Behind the Scenes of the Hunger Games
by crumblingpastries
Summary: The Hunger Games is the Capitol's most versatile tool of control, a multi-million dollar undertaking, the biggest entertainment event in Panem. Countless livelihoods go into keeping the spectacle going, providing its audience, keeping the investors happy. These are the stories of those surrounding the Games.
1. Chapter 1: The media team

_**A/N:** Returning to one of my old fandoms for a spot of nostalgia writing :P This is mostly a worldbuilding exercise, I wanted to explore the POVs of the many people who worked in the Games, watched it, mentored in it, et cetera. The tribute's experience is extremely well-documented already, and more importantly, I've learnt that I just don't have the time and attention for a full SYOT as much as I'd like to do one :(_

_Also- I've been reading Oisin55's works (they're really good, you should check them out) so some elements in here are heavily inspired by them. Using sesterces as Panem's currency (in the next chapter) is the biggest example I can think of right now, I can't find another currency term that sounds as good and makes sense too._

* * *

**I. **

My name is Nora Tinseltree. I work for the Capitol Media Network; normally I'm editing advertisements for CMN-produced shows, but it's Hunger Games season, and at this time of the year I do nothing but Top Ten Hunger Games bullshit. Ugh, the Reaping's in under a month, can you imagine? I mean- as a fan, I'm excited, but as a videoeditor? I just got out of a meeting with the Game reps and my boss Argula wants another proposal for Top Ten Moments by today. He's been rejecting my proposed lists for weeks, it's honestly getting annoying.

I take a sip of my latte before looking at my drafts again. The list is _mostly _done, there's really only a few dozen noteworthy moments to choose from, but getting it from _mostly _to _fully _done and ready-to-air is kind of a slog. You can't just repeat the same Top Ten list every year, or people will get bored. There's a whole system.

The Games representative had said that nothing big was planned this year. So this year's pre-Games specials- this and the Top Ten Arenas and the interviews with Caesar Flickerman- can be a bit plainer. You can't expect every Games to produce an Enobaria victory, or be like the Second Quarter Quell, so you don't really want to remind people about that every time. I've taken the volcano eruption from the Second Quell- a personal favorite of mine, it's awesome- off the list this year, replacing it with a good old-fashioned Inner-district alliance breakup.

My datapad pings with a message. It's from Argula-

**[3:35PM]** _Got word from Games team, they advised we lower the no of mainstays. Maybe to 3? Save them 4 the Quell next yr _

**[3:37PM]** _Okay, will remove Beetee's eletrocution? _

**[3:41PM]** _Ok. Cheerio _

Argula always uses such outdated slang. I've never heard anyone else say "cheerio", other than old ladies with criminally outdated clothes and little teacup dogs. But more importantly, I need to make one more replacement, and there are already four Inner-district fights in the list, so my next addition needs to be different.

It's just always so epic when the full One-Two-Four alliance breaks up! But variety is key in the complicated system of Top Ten Hunger Games listings. An overexciting Bloodbath may mean less to see in the rest of the Games.

My computer lags a bit as I start opening up clips from past Hunger Games. The computers at CMN are pretty old, they don't even have touchscreen, but this clunky old dog has more Hunger Games material on it than most of Panem. Even an avid fan would be impressed.

I check out an entry from the 67th Games. It's marked _67Games_D5_ 1G6G_fall. _I wish I could say that I remember every part of every Games, especially considering my job, but there's just so many by now- it's not treasonous to forget, right? I don't even remember who the tributes in this video are. It's District One's female tribute and District Six's female tribute.

The Arena is arid, filled with tall crooked spires and canyons carved out of orange rock. It's really pretty. The clip starts with the girl from Six, climbing one of the rock spires to escape from the inner district tributes. She clings to the rocks thirty feet in the air, shivering as the inner district pack crowds underneath her; the rock spire is too unstable for the inner district tributes to climb. The boy from Four tries and doesn't make it very far.

The girl from One steps forward and aims her bow. An arrow flies, a streak of silver that lodges in the girl from Six's wrist, breaking her precarious grasp. The tribute plummets like an eagle diving, except the real birds of prey are the ones on the ground- and the girl from Six, the prey animal, cuts off her scream when she hits the dusty ground and breaks both legs.

It's cool. But I watch on and the inner district alliance have to go over and finish the girl, and I wonder. Is it cool enough?

_55Games_D11_ 7M4G_fight_

A Top Ten Hunger Games selection needs to be _really _incredible. In 73 years there're loads of interesting moments, after all. Things like Feasts, alliance-versus-alliance fights, or mutt masacres.

_71Games_D3_ 1G2MG4MG_muttattack_

(But mutt attacks are kind of a so-so case; it's better if it's a tribute confrontation.)

_62Games_D15_1M2M2G4G_fight_

That's the sober truth- though every Games has its exciting points, time and public opinion are unforgiving beasts and most of those moments will be forgotten.

It must suck to be a tribute who doesn't win, everyone forgets about you after a while. Ah- that clip's already in my current list. Let's try something else.

_43Games_D13_2G3M_trapchandelier_

The 43rd Hunger Games happened before I was even born. Its Victor is a middle-aged man by now, he hasn't been popular in ages, but the clip shows this _gorgeous_ Arena and I'm immediately curious about what happened in it. The boy from District Three is running through some kind of hedge maze in warm buttery sunlight, and he runs into a little building the commentators call a "church". The tributes from One, Two and Four follow him in, and the building is filled with lit candles, and it's not very well-lit but they spot the boy hiding in a corner. It's pretty stupid of the boy to run into a dead end like that, but that's District Three for you. Anyway, this kind of atmosphere-setting around fights really needs to be brought back, nowadays it's like every Arena is just the most dangerous outdoor place they can find. It's not always good television-

Suddenly the boy from District Three grasps something hidden behind the curtains and a glittering something hurtles from the ceiling, it's the crystal chandelier, and there's a resounding _CRASH. _The commentators, whom I don't recognise, are shouting wildly as the dust clears. _That was right on top of Andesia Torres! Did it hit her- oh, Julian is going in for the kill!_

And they're right, the camera cuts to a male tribute advancing on District Three with a spear. The skinny-looking boy has nowhere to run, but he still tries and his attacker easily spears him through the chest. I wonder why District Three never tries to fight even when it's obvious they should. But I don't dwell on it much- the camera has cut back to the chandelier, revealing that the inner district girl who was underneath it had indeed been hit. The commentators say she's not dead yet, but her body is mangled by the heavy metal structure of the chandelier and it's clear she's out of the running.

After another minute of discussing her condition, the clip goes into a replay of the moment the chandelier swung into the girl tribute.

Overall, it's not exactly perfect. The fact that the mastermind died so quickly after springing his trap is kind of a downer, it's better if the event was a Victor's feat. But I've never seen this kind of event from the Games _I've _watched, a whole chandelier falling on a tribute. It's kind of novel when we've had natural outdoorsy Arenas for the past decade or so. And-

I rewind the clip, looking at the face of a girl thirty years dead. Blood is spreading out from where she lays underneath the broken glass and metal. It's very morbid.

She lived and died before I was even born. It's crazy to think about- but more importantly, it's also exactly what my Top Ten Hunger Games Moments needs.

The 43rd Games is way over twenty Games back, it means that editing the clips juuust a bit is acceptable. Most people won't remember that the boy from Three sprung a trap which didn't save his life, so I can shift the clips around and make it seem like the Victor did. Julian won that year, so we can also pretend this happened at the finale and not just at Top Eight.

I'll ask Argula about it. But before I close the clip I can't help but wonder- what was it like, watching this live thirty years ago? Being in District Two and losing a contender just like that?

It's crazy to remember all the Hunger Games you've never watched. It's not even like the 67th where I just didn't watch all of it- I think I was still in college that year- but the ones before you were even born. Twenty-four people competed and fought in the event of their lifetime, they fought mutts and killed people, and man, now most of us have no idea the things they went through in their Games. It really makes you think. Tributes really are people to look up to.

But that's enough zoning out. I have to get this sorted and then finish the Top Ten Arenas list, I'm supposed to eat out with Florian and Contessa tonight so I just _have _to finish on time.


	2. Chapter 2: The eighteen-year-old

**II. **

_**District Seven**_

They called up Trevor McMillian. Cedar didn't know McMillian- they didn't go to school together, the guy must have lived in a different part of Seven- so the only thing he felt at first was relief, immense relief as a six-year burden lifted from his shoulders. Relief was felt all around him in the eighteen-year-old section, coagulating in the air like humidity in summer.

McMillian climbed the stage and stood next to District Seven's Escort. Cedar wanted to scream, to jump up and down. He was _free_. He would never go into the Hunger Games. Fuck yes. _Fuck yes. _

He only remembered the Reaping again when he recognised the girl getting onstage, a girl he'd seen at market a couple of times. Cedar never asked her name. _Mint Evergreen, _the Escort said. She couldn't be older than fifteen. Still, he was free- he and his mates and all the other eighteen-year-olds in Seven.

You weren't supposed to show it until everything was over. Cheering, whooping, that sort of thing would be caught by the cameras and the Capitol would pretend it was the Districts being happy about the Games. And no matter what Cedar would _never _be happy about that, he wasn't a cad. But he wasn't even hearing what the Escort said anymore, he was shaking so hard. _I'll never have to worry about the Games again. _

There was clapping, and the Escort turned and ushered District Seven's two tributes into the Justice Building, and- _it's over, it's really over_. There was shrieking in the girls' half of the eighteen-year-old row section. It was Tess, who wore shoes with holes to school and was always talking about tesserae, she was with a bunch of other girls. They huddled in a circle and cried out.

"Fuck," He said to Garrick, who stood beside him.

"Keep it in, don't be a rotten plank," Garrick said back. His voice was huffy even as he tried to put on a brave front.

"Shit, Garrick, I'm gonna _explode_!"

"You think I ain't? Dude." They were moving away with the crowd. "C'mon. Back of the Stag's Head, then we lose it. We're gonna get so wasted tonight, man!"

He was going to live. He was going to get a nice girl and get married. Hell, he'd find a nice girl tonight. It was all over- it wouldn't be tomorrow, but right now you just couldn't think about the rest of your life when you just escaped the Hunger Games for good.

"You brought spare cash, right?"

Oh, right. It was a tradition for the eighteen-year-olds, District Seven thing, or maybe an all-the-Districts thing, Cedar wouldn't know. Cedar did bring the cash. They made it to the Stag's Head and Cedar finally let out the forest fire festering within him, screamed it out like a dragon breathing fire, and Garrick punched his shoulder as they jumped up and down. Free from the Games. Then they headed into the tavern, where an eighteen-year-old was standing just inside the entrance with a wooden box.

"Got anything for the tributes?"

Garrick put in a bunch of coins. The bottom of the box was already covered in money from other eighteen-year-olds. Cedar put a hand into his pocket and dug out a fistful of sesterces.

"Dude," Garrick said.

"Shut up." Cedar had been thrifty for a month for this. Just in case. In case he was Reaped on his last year, it was somehow always on the back of his mind this year, and if he was he would've had this much extra in his sponsorship fund. But he hadn't been, and now the coins landed on top of a pile going to Trevor McMillian and Mint Evergreen. The guy holding the box would go buy a good roast turkey leg or a sweet loaf of bread, to send off each tribute in the Justice Building, and the rest would go into the sponsorship fund.

It's a District Seven thing. Because every eighteen-year-old escaping the shadow of the Games owed it to Trevor McMillian and Mint Evergreen; really it was every child of Reaping age this year, but it was felt more strongly by them. Probably some of the other kids and families donated as well, or would continue to as the Games went on. But it's a tradition for the eighteen-year-olds nonetheless, and a warm feeling calcifies in the pit of Cedar's stomach as he goes over to the bar with Garrick. He was escaping the Games _and _making a difference. Kind of.

Rumor had it that Johanna Mason thought the idea was pretty lame, since there was _really _good food at the Capitol. But Cedar bet they didn't have _District Seven _food. His family gets roast bird once a year, cooked the District Seven way over a coal fire, and he's sure it's the best food in the world.

"Cedar threw in like _fifty_ sesterces," Garrick says to the person beside him.

"Cut it out," Cedar interrupts. He's kind of embarrassed. "I saved up for a month to get that much."

"Wooww. You got a crush on Evergreen or somethin'?"

"What?! No! I just thought- just in case it was me, y'know?"

It wasn't the right thing to say. It was right, though- everyone in the room thought that at some point, _what if it was me_, and that was why the conversation had gone suddenly silent.

"First round's on me," Garrick said. "Happy Fuckin' Hunger Games."

* * *

That night, Cedar gathered in the living room with Ma and Pa to watch the Reapings. They watched the scrawny sixteen-year-old from District Twelve volunteer to save her sister. They watched as District Twelve raised their hands in salute for the girl, a gesture the commentators claimed was a celebratory well-wishing for the Games but the Districts knew better than to believe.

The explosive joy of having escaped the Games was fast fading by now. Cedar feels, instead, something like guilt.


	3. Chapter 3: The mentor

**III.**

_**The Capitol**_

Parade Night.

Seeder watches District Eleven's tributes roll down Central Avenue from her position high up in the VIP viewboxes. Her girl and Chaff's boy are holding up well, their outfits glittering silver and blue under the floodlights. Rue has been exceptionally brave for her age; the little girl manages a wave to the crowd, and a few hands shoot up from the crowd in the stands to wave back. Seeder leans over to the weedy man beside her and points out her tributes.

"There's Thresh, Eleven's male tribute. He's eighteen, one of the largest tributes this year, so you can be sure he's a worthy investment."

Seeder's girl will get nothing tonight. Here in the VIP lounge, where the wealthy lurk like wild dogs in the wilderness, no one is interested in the tributes who look like cannon fodder. These potential sponsors want to fund a winner, a popular tribute they can attach their brand to. Effindiel Nestliean beside her is a cereal company executive, one of her regular contacts, and yet only comes through once in three years if she's lucky. No- tonight they're scouring the fields for Chaff's boy, who is built like the produce trucks he works on and looks like he has a fighting chance.

"Yes, he definitely does. I wouldn't want to get on his bad side, haha!" Effindiel says, and Seeder smiles and doesn't say _you already are, you vile man._

"Oh, and you'll be sure Thresh will show his competition what happens when you do."

"Yes, yes…. he doesn't look too bad. I'll think about it. Thank you for your recommendation, Seeder dear. A shame about your girl this year."

The same thing he says every year, 'I'll think about it', and he even has the audacity to insult her girl while he's at it. Seeder keeps her smile on, the false-smile she's learnt to wear like a second skin for the last thirty years, and toasts Effindiel with the champagne flute in her hand. "Please do consider it, Mr. Nestliean."

Wild dogs, all of them.

This is where Effindiel would rise and go up to the Career mentors, joining the pack drooling and simpering over Brutus and Cashmere and their catalogue of child-murderers, but this year something different happens. Seeder watches the piercing-studded man pause mid-wander, thinking heavily as he gazes out the floor-to-ceiling windows, then do an abrupt turn towards the corner. The corner where Haymitch Abernathy sits, drinking alone.

Hm. Seeder looks back to the Capitol streets spread out beyond her, where the beautiful lights blaze in celebration of the impending death of twenty-odd children. The chariots have reached the City Circle now, and on the screens all around the cameras linger on the lit-up pair from District Twelve. She knows nothing about Twelve's girl, but enough to know that the circumstances of her selection have put her on the radar of everyone in Panem.

Haymitch looks startled that he's being talked to on Parade Night. It's understandable; Seeder doesn't remember him being approached at all in the last five years.

Effindiel manages to get a few words in before Chaff comes over, almost as drunk as Haymitch himself is, and claps his good hand over the man's shoulder. _Stealing my sponsors, are ya Haymitch?_

_Fucker came over himself, don't blame me. _And everyone laughs, faux-cheerily, though Seeder knows none of the mentors are particularly happy about this. They're all Victors, they know this party is nothing but a desperate sponsor-hustle for the lives of the children in their hands. Eleven and Twelve barely receive sponsorships on an average year- it's unfortunate that they both have contenders this year. They'd be rooting for Abernathy's girl if they didn't have a boy of their own to fight for.

Down below them, the chariots are rolling away into the Training Center. Seeder wraps her shawl around her as she rises and tells Chaff she'll be collecting the tributes, carry on, join the lovely men and women at the afterparty. She thinks about her girl, rolling on that gaudy carriage closer and closer to death, her little girl who almost certainly has no chance.

The chariots disappear into the darkness, and so does she. Seeder has a lot of work to do.

* * *

The high-definition screens in the Games Control Room make it seem like the tributes are right in front of you, not suffering and dying some hundreds of miles away. A younger Seeder would've wished to reach through the screen, to press her mug of warm tea into her girl's dirty hands, but the Seeder today sits calmly and watches Rue hop through the trees.

Both of District Eleven's tributes have, by some miracle, made it through the Bloodbath. And the first day. And the second. Her girl has slipped away from the Careers time and time again, lived while older and stronger tributes than her were found and slaughtered. But this isn't enough for the sponsors, of course.

The sponsorship catalogue is displayed on its own datapad at Seeder's station, out of the way of the multiple screens focused on her tribute. Rue's sponsor funds are also listed, an amount that's too meagre to be of much use. Seeder has been taking her evenings off (Chaff takes afternoons, they take turns) and has so far wrangled just over two thousand sesterces; from public parties and Games Viewings, only from the casual viewers with _some_ sympathy and money to burn. No serious sponsor would consider a twelve-year-old until she proved herself, of course. Two thousand could feed a District Eleven family for months, maybe even a whole year- but four days into the Games, two thousand buys a single slice of bread. Or two strips of jerky.

(But Rue can already feed herself, so sending any kind of food would be a waste when she could lose it at any moment.)

Seeder watches as the Careers pass right under her girl's tree. They don't even try to look for hiding tributes, they're too busy chasing the girl from Twelve.

(Two thousand could buy a box of matches, but Seeder doesn't want to encourage her girl to set fires, they've all seen what happened to the girl from Eight.)

Haymitch's girl scrambles up a tree, almost as deftly as Rue, and hunkers down. The Careers- and for some reason, District Twelve's boy- hound her on the ground. Seeder looks over to Haymitch, wondering why his boy took the lovestruck angle in the Interviews when he was going to join the Careers anyway, and finds the man shaking and groaning at his table. Alcohol withdrawal has not been kind to him.

"Abernathy, you have a call," Seeder says, pointing out the beeping from his datapad.

Haymitch makes a noise Seeder assumes is that word "fuck".

"Get some water, you sound awful." Not that he's going to. Haymitch's girl is in imminent danger and the most shameful thing you could do as a mentor is to leave your station and miss your tribute's death. It's why Seeder doesn't offer to get anything for him, even though she has extra detox pills in her room; her girl is in the line of fire too, and Rue may have no real chance but Seeder is still duty-bound to fight for her. She has to watch Thresh, too, until Chaff gets back from his sponsor meeting.

So Seeder goes back to watching her screens. It's the one superstition she can't shake, that if you watch your tribute you can save them from what's coming. Beside her, Haymitch has managed to start talking into his datapad.

Seeder's girl- stupid, poor, frightened girl- climbs closer to the girl from Twelve and gets her attention. Rue points upwards; the cameras pan to reveal a tracker jacker nest several feet above them. Seeder's girl is finally on the big screens, the commentators speculating avidly on whether she and Twelve are about to team up.

Someone's datapad beeps. It's- not hers.

Seeder looks at her own datapad. 2,059 sesterces. She looks over to Haymitch, slurring into a video call. She hears a quote for 4,000.

"_I like Katniss. From District Twelve_," Her girl had told her during training.

"I mean this in the nicest way possible, but you sound like rubbish," Seeder hears herself saying. "I'll take that call for you if you watch both of our tributes."

* * *

As expected, Rue stays nearby all night. It's the only thing stoppering the bubbling doubt in Seeder's stomach; she had helped Haymitch haggle the sponsorship up to 6,000, more than many of her tributes ever see in the Games, and told Chaff to fetch the detox pills on the way back. If Rue and Katniss end up allying it will be a boon for Rue, but it's still a long shot that both of them will survive to daybreak. It is more than likely that the Careers might manage to kill one of them, or worse- Katniss could throw Rue to the dogs and walk away with the spoils.

Nothing happens much for the next few hours. Their tributes settle down for the night. No such luck for the mentors, mind you; Eleven's two mentors and Haymitch pull their chairs together and get ready to keep vigil. At least Chaff and Haymitch get on well. They banter quietly and Seeder just stares at the 2,059 on her datapad, feeling its value diminish by the second.

Haymitch manages to get together 20,000 for burn cream. Twenty thousand. Seeder is a patient, pragmatic woman; she knows she'll never get twenty thousand for her girl.

"Oi- just because you helped me out doesn't mean my kids owe you, okay?" Haymitch says, out of the blue.

"Just say 'thanks', it's not that hard," Chaff teases. Seeder would like to say no- would like to say that she helped out Haymitch expressly for a cut of that 6,000, her tribute needs the money and she's out of options. But Seeder understands the anxiety; she knows deep down that her unease is the same thing clothed differently, that if it came down to it every mentor would wish the other tributes dead if it meant their girl or boy could come home.

"It _is_ the Hunger Games," Seeder says instead, and leaves the boys to whine about being sober.

* * *

It turns out Katniss Everdeen does have the decency to warn Seeder's girl. The cameras pick up their movements at dawn. The Careers are all asleep; the Victors have barely slept, not even the Ones and Twos across the room who are urging their tributes to get up.

Rue flees like a whisper through the treetops and Seeder lets out a gasp of relief.

The cameras zoom in on the blisters bubbling up on the Twelve girl's hands as she tries to dislodge the tracker jacker nest. It reminds Seeder of her own Games, held on a hilly plain bursting with wildflowers, and how her own hands burned as she harvested foxglove and wolfsbane and a dozen other poisonous flowers. As a tribute she had methodically soaked her poisonous plants into the Arena's streams, persisting until the Careers took water from the stream and dropped dead. The effect this year is quicker, messier, but ultimately the same- the girl from Four has lost control of her limbs and is twitching on the ground, drooling. Another Career girl is already dead.

There's a collective groan from the Career mentors.

Chaff smirks. Both of District Eleven's tributes were killed by the Careers last year: the girl in the Bloodbath, the boy on the second day when the Pack found him. Seeder no longer keeps score of these things and feels nothing but a nagging hollowness. She watches Katniss Everdeen stagger through the forest, hearing the commentators enthuse about the hallucinogen level in the girl's bloodstream. The main broadcast doesn't show it, but her own screens show her girl following from a distance.

Seeder checks her datapad again. She's received an invitation to lunch from an old contract, and another message asking about sponsoring Thresh. Maybe she'll be able to get some money out of the luncheon. Still no sponsorships for her girl. That's how it is in the Hunger Games.

* * *

Seeder's girl actually does get to enjoy some of that 20,000-sesterces medicine, after the Twelve girl agrees to an alliance. But she has no chance to say something witty to Haymitch about it, because in the meantime his boy has gone from fine to greviously wounded on a riverbank.

Haymitch sends nothing to his boy. District Eleven's mentors don't question it, because the reasons are myriad- the boy has too little funds, or Haymitch has decided to focus on the tribute with better odds.

For similar reasons, Rue continues to get nothing as well.

* * *

It seems Seeder's misjudged the girl from Twelve. No wonder Haymitch has been more invested in this girl than he has in any Twelve tribute for the past decade.

* * *

Rue dies before she sees her first sponsor gift.

In all honesty Seeder feels nothing. She has mentored decades of tributes and it never matters how far they make it- 2nd place is no better than last, so what could she say about a twelve-year-old who would be lucky to make the Top Eight?

The male mentor from District one wails. He swears and pounds his screen as the hovercraft carries his tribute's corpse away and Seeder feels nothing either, nothing but the reverberating hollowness that has taken root in her chest for the past decade. No one wins in the Hunger Games, not really.

Her datapad now says _19,791_ _sesterces._ It's displays the sponsorship catalogue of weapons, the knife she'd been begging for money to afford for the past three hours. Over a week into the Games, it costs 20,000_._ The price of burn cream at this point would be astronomical.

Rue's canon has gone off a while ago, and normally Seeder sits till the body is long gone, but this year the girl from Twelve stays nearby and she watches as Katniss Everdeen decorates her girl with flowers.

Chaff is off taunting the Ones, because Chaff is young and still cares about these things. Haymitch is a wreck- he's been sober all the way as far as she can tell, which says a lot about his belief in this year's tributes. Somehow, Haymitch's wheezing, unkempt-smelling agony beside her is more real than her girl's death. Haymitch used to be one of the few mentors more jaded to death than she is, but this year he's fighting.

His girl is fighting, harder than any tribute from Twelve in the past decade. His girl sings hers to sleep and stumbles off into the woods and collapses, no doubt traumatised.

Seeder picks up her datapad and looks up the food catalogue instead. A slice of bread has quintupled in price: it now costs 10,000 sesterces.

"_I like Katniss. From District Twelve."_

Haymitch can't waste that kind of money on bread. Neither can Chaff. But for once, Seeder can afford it.

* * *

_**A/N: **Everyone's written a mentor POV, but what can I say? I want to write one too :3 A series about non-canon Victors is a pipe dream of mine to write, but I definitely couldn't write (or plan tbh, it's on too big of a scale) 74 chapters for 74 years of Victors. Hopefully Seeder is a Victor less discussed, I had fun writing this! _

_A further disclaimer that I'm writing these in my spare time and I don't really have any solid plot or plan for this series. I unfortunately only have the mental space to do disparate one-shots, which is what I'm sticking to. _

_Thank you for reading and reviewing!_


	4. Chapter 4: The tabloids

_**A/N: **A short one this time, I've unfortunately been swamped by RL things. :,D _

* * *

_**IV.**_

**CAPITOL COUTURE: 74TH HUNGER GAMES SPECIAL**

Summer is the most fashionable season of the year, but the excitement doubles this month as the 74th Annual Hunger Games is underway! Games season is _the_ season to start a new fashion trend, and Capitol Couture are hot on the trail of what's brewing here at Games Central.

**TRIBUTE PARADE TRENDS**

The tributes for the 74th Hunger Games were treated to a warm welcome by the crowds at their first appearance on Parade Night! Read on to find out which tributes stole the spotlight and which stylists may have made some fashion boo-boos. Check out our sister publication _Capitol Weekly _to find out more about the tributes themselves and the top contenders for this year's Games!

District One continues to enjoy another year of styling by Pierre Dupont, a renowned designer from the Panem Fashion Show! Dupont continues to use his signature style of jewel embellishment in this year's outfits. District One's tributes wore white tunics studded with diamonds; Dupont expertly incorporated the current trend of glass accessories by giving the female tribute a disk-shaped headdress made of silver-backed glass. Glimmer's glass headdress has been the subject of a few arguments- is it an exciting take on the glass-pane trend, or is it verging on tackiness? Some critics say that Dupont's style itself is due for a change. Despite the controversy, we think District One's tributes look quite fetching- what do you think?

The glass-pane trend was also seen in the outfits of Districts Four and Six. Designers Arabella Rosenthal and Reynardo Ionthe have tried their best to produce interesting takes on the trend, but with spring on its way out we wonder how much longer the glass-pane trend will last.

Bold fashion propositions come from Districts Eight and the district everyone's been talking about- Twelve. But more on that later. Dr. Julia Luscious, the biggest name in film costume design today, has returned to the Parade scene with a stunning design for District Eight. She last designed for the Tribute Parade in the 67th Games, producing an unforgettable stone-gargoyle costume for District Two. The two-time winner of Best Costume Design in the Panem Film Awards has done it again- District Eight's outfits are cream chiffon shot through with gold thread, further decorated with a red sash for Sylvester and flared sleeves for Merino. Dr. Luscious claims that this outfit was inspired by the warehouse fire that happened in District Eight last month. She's clearly hoping to make gold the next hot trend for the summer, and perhaps the only downside to an otherwise beautiful number is the lackluster performance from the tributes modelling them. One can only hope to see more enthusiastic tributes from Eight next year.

On to some burning questions: Are District Seven still trees?

Yes, District Seven are still trees. It seems that there was an attempt to dress the tributes up as axes this year, but the Reaped tributes were not the right size for the outfits and another outfit had to be made on short notice.

Perhaps District Seven will break the trend next year in time for the Quell!

The true highlight of the Tribute Parade came at the end, proving that the best really is saved for last. District Twelve is on everyone's lips right now, and you might be wondering- what happened to make the previously unassuming District so popular? It's all thanks to stylists Cinna Amyntas and Portia Martinez, whose fashion debut is nothing less than incredible. Head on to Page 25 for read more about these new faces in the fashion block!

District Twelve's days of coal-miners outfits are over, at least for this year. The lucky tributes donned all-black suits with a cape made of fluorescent synthetic weave, which lit up like fire as they rode down Central Avenue. Twelve's performance seems to have cemented the fashion trend for the summer: Capitol TV star Cassandra Flickerman was spotted today in a deep blue dress with fluorescent sleeves, and you can be sure more celebrities will follow.

Now you know what fashions to stock your wardrobe with before you attend this season's parties! But before you rush to the shops, we suggest you exercise caution- trends change at the drop of a hat during Games Season, and you can be sure more trends will be in before the Games are out. Look forward to more reports on who wore what at the Interviews and Opening Day!

We wish the tributes best of luck for the Hunger Games. And to our dear readers, stay cool and stay fashionable!

**WHAT'S NEXT:**

Pg. 20 - 73RD VICTOR MAKES A SPLASH AT PRESIDENTIAL HOUSE GALA

Pg. 25 - CINNA AND PORTIA: NEW FACES ON THE BLOCK

Pg. 28 - TRIBUTE FASHION THROUGH THE AGES


	5. Chapter 5: After the Games

_**A/N:** This one got away from me and turned into a mini-story of sorts. It's much longer than past chapters, oops. I had a lot of fun writing this, though! The factoid that old Arenas get turned into resorts is actually an interesting premise for stuff.  
_

_**Content note: **This one-shot involves a character having a flashback to a previous Games she watched in a way that points to some kind of repressed trauma? Which makes sense, the Hunger Games is a pretty traumatic event. But I didn't research on PTSD/trauma coping while writing this so it's not a very good depiction, and I wanted to be upfront about it just in case this affects people. _

* * *

_**V. **_

**_Arena of the ? Hunger Games_**

There's a commotion in the forests beyond the Cornucopia plain.

It's probably some Capitolite that touched the glowing plants, even though they're told not to. The chemicals used to make them like that have turned the leaves toxic, and there are signs all along the walking trails warning tourists not to touch anything. But of course, Capitol tourists think they're the king of the world, and someone gets sent to the resort medical bay every day.

I see a crowd emerge from one of the trails, two medical staff in dark blue coats transporting a stretcher. The tourists on the Cornucopia plain start gossiping, chattering like a flock of mutt birds. I don't really care- this happens so often, I'm used to it- and take another drag from my cigarette instead. Smoking's not allowed in the Concert Hall and I can only take breaks so often.

This Arena is still really nice, though. I don't remember the year this was from- I think this was one of our Victors' Arenas- but working in a cool misty forest is so much better than last season, where my troupe got assigned to a ruined industrial Arena. Those four months were hell, everywhere was filled with dust and the air always smelled of sewage. Here, the Arena is actually worth exploring. The dark forests beyond the Cornucopia are lit up by the glowing plants; blue bushes that grow in clusters, wildflowers with petals like pearls. Four times a day the forests fill with thick fog, and if you pay extra you get to see the migration of the stag mutts through the Arena.

I've heard the stag mutts are really troublesome to upkeep, though. (That's why the viewings cost so much.) Something about the mutt DNA being too unstable. I've also heard they have to re-plant the glowing plants every few years, they just can't take being fed the chemicals that make them look so beautiful. Working in Arena resorts has really changed how I see the Games; nowadays when they reveal the Arena I end up thinking about how empty and new it looks, how much work is gonna go into making them presentable for the tourists.

Anyway, my smoke break is just about over. The commotion's calmed down now, everyone's forgotten that someone got badly poisoned a few minutes ago. I walk across the open clearing to one of the overflowing bins, stuff the cigarette butt between a takeout container and a drink cup, and go around the gleaming Concert Hall. The staff doors are plain metal, unlike the audience door that's polished wood with silver handles.

Lazuli greets me in the dressing room. "We're starting warm-ups early," he tells me.

"Good for me, I'm on door duty for the night show."

"Then start door duty early, 'Rovska. What'll you do when the bigshots show up at the doors and no one's there?"

I snort and look into the mirror at my table, touching up my makeup. People are still milling about. It's whatever. "Tell that to Cherri. Is she back yet?"

Lazuli laughs. It's kind of cute, he has an awkward sort of laugh. "Nah. No one knows where she is."

Cherri is one of the Capitol members of our troupe- most of us are from District One, entertainment is one of our District industries, but working in an Arena is an elite job and Capitolites want the prestige, too. Those of us from One can only work in the shows and events, so we don't take too many jobs away from Capitol citizens. But most of them end up as tour guides or running the snack trolleys anyway. I dunno what's so glamorous about that.

"Maybe she joined a tour." I do an impression of Cherri and gush about how 'bee-you-the-full' the Arena is. It cracks Lazuli up, and a few others too.

Lazuli's kind of cute. It's a shame performer contracts are so unstable, so I don't wanna date him and then get transferred to another troupe a few months later.

Everyone's here half an hour later, and those acting in the evening show start on warmup exercises. Cherri is almost late, and she can't fix the mess her hair is in because the Director is here and wants to talk to the troupe. I'm in my usher's uniform and ready to go to the doors, but he motions for me to stay too.

"Dear me, dear me! The Minister of Media will be watching tonight's show," the Director says, "so I need, yes you know what I need, the best from all of you! And there'll be, oh dear, a few changes to the show because of that. Nothing too major, I'm told, so don't fret, dears."

The news gets the Capitol performers in a flutter, as well as Shine- who joined us two months ago, fresh out of Finishing School, and overreacts to everything. I roll my eyes at the others, because we get several Ministers a year. Every Minister's watched _Treaty of Treason: The Musical_, I'm pretty sure. It's one of the staple shows and one's always showing somewhere.

"This feels a little weird," Lazuli admits, and it _is _kind of short notice but we just laugh it off.

"I heard a bunch of Victors are coming with the Minister, too!" Cherri squeals when the Director leaves. "Oh oh oh, maybe I could get a picture with them!"

"That's nice," Lazuli says really patronisingly.

I add, "did you hear it while you were making out with the snack stall guy?"

Cherri squeals in anger and calls me a District savage, but someone points out her mussed hair and she flies into a panic over it. Anyway, District One is the most cultured of the Districts, so that insult means nothing to us.

"Y- You're the one losing out when I'm getting an autograph from Gypsum!" Cherri blusters as she pours hair product into her poufy do, and I-

–wait, Gypsum?

"Yes, Gypsum Cortez! And Julian from Four too. But Gypsum, the beauty! Don't you want to meet her too?"

No, I don't, actually. Shine notices my dazed expression- or maybe he's just not out of his training mindset yet, Victors are a big thing in all of the Career training schools- and starts talking to Cherri about the Victors. I'm not sure how to feel, myself.

Gypsum's the one who won the Hunger Games on my final year in Finishing School. She'd been the girl from District Two. If I'd been the chosen tribute I would've faced her– but really, what makes it weird for me is that she faced Opaline, the chosen girl from my year.

In retrospect I would never have been the chosen tribute, of course. I thought about going into the Games, really thought about it, but I ended up chickening out a few months before graduation. That kind of stuff just isn't for me. But I remember Opaline. And I remember how the Arena killed her with the help of its Victor.

"Swarovska?" Lazuli calls my name, concerned. I shake myself out of it.

"It's nothing. Gypsum's just– her Games were my year."

He makes a noise of understanding. We're both Finishing School graduates, all of us here are, we all trained for the possibility of going into the Games. And we don't go in the end- but the year we _could've _gone is always special. It's the one we fantasise _what-ifs_ about, or feel relieved we didn't volunteer for.

And now Opaline is dead.

But it doesn't matter– she's been dead many years now, and I've moved on with my life. I need to get myself focused for showtime.

"I'm going to the doors. Good luck with the _Treaty_."

I do. The others murmur goodbye as I leave the dressing room and stride through the dark Concert Hall. I pass the tiered seats, more expensive than anything in District One, to the heavy double doors. But now that Cherri's mentioned it I can't help thinking about that year again; my uncertainty about volunteering, Opaline's burning desire to be chosen and the lengths she went to to achieve it. I hurt my arm from a faulty obstacle course and I've always suspected Opaline did it, as with the other incidents that targeted our year's other top performers.

I never knew Opaline well but she was well-known. For her beauty, her charisma, her viciousness.

(Beyond the doors, I can hear the ever-present buzzing of Arena activity. Kids screeching, Capitolites squealing for photos.)

We really thought Opaline would win, but I know now that she wouldn't.

That stuff doesn't matter now, I tell myself. Those Games are long over. Gypsum hasn't set foot in an Arena for years, and I've never thought about tribute stuff for years either. I'm an actress now. I work in an Arena that has been tamed, made into a tourist attraction, no longer a danger to anyone.

A stagehand signals to me. I take a deep breath, check my hair, and pull open the doors.

* * *

_Treaty of Treason: The Musical _always gets a full house, for some reason. I think the afternoon show- _Mags: The Siren of District Four_, where I get to play Mags- is much cooler and more interesting, but everyone and their dog wants to watch _Treaty _for some Capitol-forsaken reason.

So, _Treaty of Treason_ is a glamourized retelling of the First Hunger Games. It shows the Dark Days and how the Capitol established peace out of the chaos- and finally, the first Victor vanquishing the remnants of the rebels (conveniently, a bunch of rebels were children and got Reaped.) It shows all the time, in every Games tourist spot, and the lines haven't changed since we were doing student plays in Finishing School.

Except some of the cues are being changed today? It's weird, but whatever. The Capitol gets what it wants.

The crowds that come in are chattering away, passing snacks and comparing photos. Arena shows aren't ticketed, so my job is mostly crowd control- I have to stop one visitor from stopping right in the aisle for a selfie. It's really easy to forget you're working in a place where twenty-three children died, even when you look outside and see the Cornucopia right there.

There are always a bunch of kids around the Cornucopia, but they're Capitol kids and they're playacting the Bloodbath with rubber weapons while their parents take videos. Even after six years of Arena work I'm not sure how I feel about that. But that's not my job. My job is to help people to their seats, and make sure no one's cutting pieces out of the drapes to take home (like, what even?). And I do that.

At eight, just as the show's about to start, the Victors arrive.

I don't even care about the Minister, to be honest. It's always some pudgy old guy in a weird suit, surrounded by bodyguards. District One teaches its children a healthy apathy for politics, that these things are beyond us. I smile and say something about what an honour it is to meet him, but my eyes keep slipping to Julian and Gypsum at the back of the entourage.

Gypsum Cortez. The bitch who walked over Opaline's body out of the Arena.

I'm surprised to discover I barely recognise her. She's grown into a woman, her hawk-like features filled out, her voice has become smoother. I'm tempted to ask if she knows who I am, but it's a stupid idea, and I dither too long and she glides past. How would she know what she's done to me and my District, anyway?

This whole thing is stupid. I don't know why I'm so worked up about–

–well, I mean, I do. Even six years on, I find that the memories of this specific year come easy. All of District One gathered in the town square, watching the girl from Two slam Opaline against the indoor carousel until her head split open on the ears of a wooden horse.

(I'm lucky to remember only this brief flash- not the screaming of the girls, of everyone watching in the square- but I suddenly notice that Gypsum's dress is blue like the wooden horse was.)

No. _No_. I'm getting into a weird headspace. The lights go down, and Lazuli is announcing the start of the show, and I tear my eyes away from Gypsum seated in the VIP row and run back up to the doors.

I decide to duck into the outside toilets for a bit. The show can spare five minutes without me now that most of the crowd is seated.

There's a blue-skinned Capitol lady on her phone in the toilet. I ignore her and carefully splash some water on my face -makeup from the Capitol is waterproof- hoping it'll snap me out of it. The lights are a soft yellow and there's a little pot of orchids, a little pot on the sleek ledge above the sinks. Swarovski Annesley looks back at me from the other side of the spotless mirror. District One blonde, hazel eyes, a bump on my nose where there's a pimple under the makeup. But then I really look at the mirror, like _look _look at it, and the whole row of mirrors down the wall- and I'm thinking of the Hall of Mirrors in Opaline's Games, the maze that drove three tributes insane.

At least three. There's probably more I don't remember. I let myself think about it now. It was supposed to be Opaline's year, but the Gamemakers were cruel that year and the Arena was built for torture. It was indoors, windowless, the lights always flickering, and you could hear a girl scream from all the way down the corridor as she triggers a trap and sawblades spring out of the floor. They called it a "funhouse".

The outliers all died in the first week.

I think we knew, when we first heard that name, that Opaline and Brilliance were not going to win, but we were in denial. Maybe the worst thing was the betrayal of it. Sending our best Careers in only to watch them go insane from the claustrophobia, the mutts, the traps. I think about Opaline wandering in the mirror maze for two days, until the dead silence got to her and she started screaming, screaming and pounding at her reflection all around her. About the white doves that came out of nowhere and pecked bloody holes in all the Careers, and at the end pecking out the eyes of the boy from Four when he abandoned Brilliance to the boy from Two. And like that, that was how Gypsum found him after she was done smashing Opaline's head in, the Four boy in a pool of his blood and tears deep in the mirror maze-

-oh hell, I think I'm whimpering out loud. The Capitol lady's hurried out, probably judging me.

I realise that I hate my year of the Games.

I also remember that the Victor they pulled out of that Arena was utterly insane- she was no better than Opaline at the end. But it's not like any of us were. Even now I'm unnerved by the memories of that year. But there's no way to exorcise those memories- at best the talkshows don't cover it very much nowadays.

The best I end up doing is reminding myself that this Arena is different- it's pretty, the fog wreathes through the trees like a dream, and outside I can hear the excitement of a hundred Capitol visitors. I stare out the door and take deep breaths like they teach you in Finishing School. They say to acknowledge your fear, let it wash over you, and let it go.

Opaline… I'll think about her more after work. I really should be getting back.

I tell myself to walk towards the forests to start with. Fingers crossed they still haven't missed me back at the Concert Hall; I let myself linger in the Cornucopia plain a while and watch the night fall over the treeline. The fluorescent plants stand out even more now, like fairies in the darkness, though they are indistinguishable from camera flashes where I am. See? Plants are good. The air is fresh. There's a man near me telling his wife they should come back and see the stag mutts again.

As I'm about to re-enter the Concert Hall I see my Director talking with some guy in the suit, a ways off and aside from the crowd. I don't _mean _to look, but I just happen to see an envelope get passed between them.

Huh. I wonder what he's accepting sneaky money for- at least I'm assuming that's what they're doing- but it's probably some Capitol thing.

The Concert Hall is still dark when I re-enter. I've been gone longer than I thought- most of the first act is over, and now they're doing a musical rendition of the Treaty of Treason. If anyone finds out I was gone this long, I'd be in trouble. But I'm pretty sure they won't. I've perfected the art of slipping out of things in Finishing School.

Cherri reaches the climax of the song. She might be an air-brained idiot but she hits the high notes perfectly, and the crowd stirs with her declaration that _with the Games, Panem will prosper forever. _She gestures dramatically and reaches into a fake Reaping Bowl, plucks out a slip of paper, and reads the name of Panem's first Victor of it. Lazuli, playing said Victor, falls to his knees as the orchestra thunders around him. White doves burst out from the curtains and scatter around the hall, to the delight of the audience.

The birds are the first unusual thing, part of the new stage cues. Then the stagelights go off- that is normal, but the darkness stretches for longer than it normally does and I begin to wonder what's up.

There's a confused smattering of applause. But then I hear a scream mixed among the claps. And something else.

I'm sure it's the gurgle of someone getting shanked.

I start walking towards the sound. Every Finishing School graduate has a sense for Suspicious Plots. I'm _sure _something weird is going on. There's a second scream, more of a squeal really, and Lazuli is asking what's going on from the stage-

-someone is moving in the VIP row.

"Hey!" I call out. "What do you think you're doing?"

The lights begin to come back on, but they're much too late, it's already too late when I realise I'm staring at Gypsum Cortez tearing her way into the aisle. She's panting, hunched into herself like an animal, and I smell blood- there's some small blade in her hand.

"_Let me out_," she growls. She's mad. "Get out of my- _Opaline?_"

It's like the Arena again. The darkness, the claustrophobia, the doves-

_The doves-_

"No, no, you're dead,_ you're supposed to be dead!_"

It's clear to me in an instant. The birds in the new stage cues, the Director taking bribes behind the Concert Hall; I'm sure the Minister of Media is dead, offed by a mad Victor who thinks she's back in the Arena. And I'm dead too, because an instant is enough for Gypsum's knife to find my heart, and I am falling-

"I'm not-"

"_You're dead! Leave me alone! Let me out!"_

The other Victor is calling Gypsum's name somewhere above me, but he needn't have bothered.

* * *

_**A/N: **And with this piece, I've run out of prewritten content for this fic. I can't guarantee any more content, but I've had fun doing this so I hope I'll be able to continue updating anyway!_

_Is there any aspect of Panem you'd like to see? Feel free to suggest things in the reviews. Again, can't guarantee I'll write it, but I appreciate ideas!_


End file.
